I’ve started writing stories with prompts from Writer’s Digest. This week’s prompt is “Coupon Cutter.” I’ve already posted two stories there, and seem to have reached a limit, so I’m posting the third one here.
That was almost five years ago. I was the villain in the tale, with my Khloé-Kardashian good looks and bitch-wannabe attitude, rubbing the loser’s nose in shit every time I won, Joker-worthy smug grin always on my façade. My woefully inadequate challenger had the Nell-Jones pixie face and the feistiness of Hetty Lange, painfully shy and humble but formidable and beloved by fans and foes, her cocker-spaniel-like super-supportive husband always by her side at the starting line and the finish line.
There was not a single shred of doubt in my mind that I was going to win. And I knew I had clinched it when I saw her coming out of the Jo-Ann’s with three foam boards under her arm. Forty percent off was not going to get her nothing when Elmer’s three-packs sold for less than that at Staples. Rookie mistake.
And here I am, lying in bed, touching the tattoo of her name on the arm of that same super-supportive cocker spaniel, sound asleep.
“Please, don’t do that.” He is ticklish there. Something about an infection and scars.
He turns around, still sound asleep… appearing still sound asleep, with his tender, loving, devoted eyes closed slumberingly. “You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?”
I try to hide my tears that he cannot see by blinking.
“It was not your fault.”
I don’t believe that. “I know.”